


Maurice Moss One-Shots

by Apollonia_Deserved_Better



Category: IT Crowd
Genre: Gazing into each others eyes while songs by Chicago play, I'm Not Ashamed, Kissing in the Rain, Multi, Not Serious, Romantic Fluff, Romantic Gestures, Romantic Soulmates, Satire, Serious, Waiting for A Girl Like You by Chicago lyrics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-27
Updated: 2018-10-18
Packaged: 2019-04-13 12:14:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14112117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Apollonia_Deserved_Better/pseuds/Apollonia_Deserved_Better
Summary: A miscellany of short stories, one-shots, and poems inspired by the one and only Maurice Moss. Should I be ashamed of writing them? Probably. But you should be more ashamed of reading them.





	1. Waiting for Someone Like You~Imagine

Imagine that you and Maurice Moss are driving home together after a very strange night out clubbing. Your armpits are sticky with sweat from dancing all night, and Moss reeks of milk from drinking all those White Russians. You’ve never liked drinking, so all you had was a Cherry Coke, but even that gave you a pretty big sugar high that made you a wild partier all night. You have no idea where Roy and Jen are--you think they got a taxi together or walked home, because you haven’t seen them in about two hours. You’re tasked with driving Moss home, except you have no idea where he lives.

“What road did you say you lived on again?” you ask him.

He mumbles something--he’s still very drunk. You can make out a few measly words. “Over by...Avenue...bakery...ploppers.”

His eyes are glazed over and his glasses are tilted on his face. Little droplets of perspiration line his forehead, which is pressed against the window of your car. You worry he’s going to fall asleep and you won’t be able to carry him inside. You really hope you don’t have to run into his mother.

“Moss,” you say again. “Moss, I need to know where you live.”

“ _ Mm… _ ” he mumbles. “I shouldn’t have drunk all those White Russians.”

“Moss, don’t fall asleep. Come on.”

“Pipe down, Y/N.” His hand slaps at you, and you push it away.

“Stay awake! Do you want to have to stay at my place? You’ll have to sleep on the couch.”

He groans. “Not the couch.”

“Yeah, the couch.”

“I don’t like your couch. It’s dirty and smells like dust.”

“Well, then what street do you live on?”

He tells you, and you frown. “What? I’ve never--are we even going the right way?”

Moss groggily lifts his head up from the window, barely able to hold it up, and mumbles, “Where are we?”

“Uh...is that Parker Street?”

He squints and adjusts his glasses. “I live on the other side of town.”

“Aw, really? Damn you, Moss--”

“You  _ really _ messed this up, Y/N.”

“I’ve never been to your house before!”

“Definitely not with my mother around. Oh, no! She’s going to have to see me drunk!”

“Oh. Well, not much you can do--”

“Take me to Roy’s flat!”

“What?”

“I NEED TO GO TO ROY’S,” he yells out of the blue. “I’M DRUNK AS FLIP. TAKE ME TO ROY’S.”

“I don’t even know if he’s home. We could have left him and Jen at the club, for all I know.”

“TAKE ME TO ROY’S.”

“You know what, why don’t I just take you to my place?” you suggest. “If I can--well, if I can find it.”

“I’m not sleeping on your dusty couch.”

“ _I_ can sleep on the dusty couch. You can sleep on the floor.”

“I hate sleeping on the floor!”

“Wow. You know, you really are  _ quite _ the whiner when you’re drunk.”

“Yeah, well…” He blinks. “I can’t see anything.”

“God, it’s dark outside. Even the headlights don’t do much.”

Suddenly, you hear a tiny noise, and a small circle of water appears on the windshield. The noise appears again, and again, and again, until it’s full-on downpouring all over the car. A wave of grey water is like a bedsheet over your line of sight.

“Aw, shit,” you hiss. “Now it’s raining.”

“Turn your wipers on,” Moss says.

“How are we going to get home _now_?” you whine, doing as he says. The wipers screech and scrape across the glass, barely accomplishing anything.

“I can barely see the street signs,” Moss says.

“Nice observation,” you reply, squeezing the leather wheel tight in your fingers. You’re so tired. So, so unbelievably tired, although this is somewhat masked by all the soda you drank. It’s like the Cherry Coke is pulling your eyelids open, keeping you from falling asleep. Which, you realize, is sort of convenient in the middle of a night drive home in the pouring rain.

“I’m pulling over,” you announce, slowing to a stop on the side of the road.

“Wait,” he exclaims. “I know. I have a GPS feature on my cellular phone.”

“Great,” you snap. “That’s a big help when I CAN’T SEE ANYTHING.”

He bursts into tears suddenly, his face falling into his hands, which you push back down. “Sorry, sorry. I forgot you were that sensitive.”

“You’re quite unpleasant tonight, Y/N.”

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! Where’s your phone?”

“In the front pocket of my shirt as always.”

You pull his jacket open, freeing it from the seat belt, and slide his phone up out of his chest pocket. Your fingers brush against his pec for a moment, and you can’t help but blush. Moss doesn’t seem to notice.

“What’s your password?” you ask.

“I’m not giving you that information,” he insists. “Hackers could be listening. Or you could be a hacker.”

“You could just change it when I’m done.”

His head moves all around as he tries to come up with a snappy response, but then he just snatches the phone from you and messily types something in. He mumbles “flip” and “mother-flipping” a few times before finally getting in and handing the phone back to you.

You navigate to the GPS and type in his address. Turns out you’re on the complete opposite side of town like you thought. However, when you type in  _ your _ address, you find out you’re just five minutes away. You figure you can’t last even five minutes in this weather, and that it’s better to just wait it out.

Which means that you and Moss are stuck in your car together, in the dark, at night, on an unfamiliar road, quite far away from either one of your homes, both of you quite tired and one of you totally hammered. Nice plan, Y/N. Nice plan.

“We’re just going to sit here and do nothing, then?” Moss slurs.

“I suppose,” you sigh. “It’s all we  _ can _ do.”

He glances at you, making that little face he does where his bottom lip is scrunched up into the top. Even in the dark, you can see his big, world-encompassing eyes looking at you innocently. Suddenly, you don’t feel so tired, and he doesn’t look so tired, either. Your eyes move down at his dainty hands, each one settled on a pudgy leg, and your heart rate quickens in your chest. You can’t take him looking at you like that, with those eyes of his, with those thin lips, with that dimple carved out of his chin like someone took a spoon to it. You’re worried you’ll do something you’ll regret--or worse, something you won’t.

“Let’s put on some music, shall we?” you suggest, reaching for the radio.

It’s already on the classic rock station, and the speakers in the car begin to play, softly, “Waiting for a Girl Like You” by Foreigner.

“I like this song,” Moss says.

“Me, too,” you almost whisper.

You two sit in silence for a moment, listening to the lyrics.  _ It feels so right, so warm and true, I need to know if you feel it too. _

“I’m sorry I yelled at you,” you tell him. “I was just...tired.”

“It’s okay,” he says quietly.

You two are staring at each other again. You’re unable to break away from his gaze, and even though he’s making that uncomfortable wince you can tell it’s difficult for him, too. You’re having a moment. A moment of which you always dreamed. A moment you thought would never come.

You want to pop the question. The question that’s been banging around your head and heart ever since you first laid eyes on him, and he first laid eyes on you.

_ Maybe I'm wrong, won't you tell me if I'm coming on too strong? _

“Y/N,” he says.

“Moss?” you answer, your voice barely a squeak.

“Do you ever think--”

All of a sudden, something vibrates in your hand and you both jump. A giant image of Roy has popped up on the screen of Moss’s phone.

“It’s Roy,” you say stupidly.

“Answer it!” he almost yells.

“But it’s _your_ phone!” you cry.

“I can’t answer it! I’m drunk as flip!”

You sigh and put the phone to your ear.

“MOSS, WHERE ARE YOU GUYS?” Roy slurs over the phone. “JEN--JEN AND I ARE STILL AT THE CLUB AND WE LOST YOU AND Y/N AND WE NEED A RIDE HOME.”

“This is Y/N,” you say. “The weather is so terrible out here that we’re pretty much stuck in the rain.”

“Hi, Roy!” Moss yells excitedly. “Are you drunk, too?”

“Is that Moss?” Roy asks. “HI, MOSS!”

“Hi, Roy! Y/N, it’s Roy! And I bet he’s drunk, too! Where are you, Roy?”

“WE’RE BACK AT THE CLUB, MOSS! COME BACK HERE AND GET US.”

“We can’t--” you begin, but suddenly there’s a loud crashing noise and the sound of a scuffle. Then you hear Jen’s voice…“ _ Come here, you sexy bastard. _ ”

You quickly hang the phone up and look back at Moss, who is positively giddy. “Was that Jen?”

“Yep. That was Jen and Roy.”

“Yay! Let’s go get them!”

“No! They’re, uh...busy.”

He’s smiling wide, totally clueless. “Busy? Busy with what? It’s a Friday night. We have the weekend off.”

“Uh… ‘dirty business’.”

“Dirty business? Are they cleaning something? Did they stay behind at the club after hours to help the janitors? That sounds fun. You know, I always thought that if I didn’t get a job in computers, I would be a janitor. Or in the theatre.”

You frown. “Do you like cleaning things?”

“Not really. I hate messes.”

The song is still playing, but the moment is ruined. Your last real moment with Moss for what might be a long time. It’s very rare you can get the two of you alone. Roy and Jen are always interfering, butting in. And the worst part is that you told Jen about your feelings for Moss in confidence. She knows how important it is to you, and yet…

“Y/N,” he says unexpectedly, and you look up to see that his smile has faded just slightly. “Shall we go find Jen and Roy?”

You open your mouth and close it again, then look out the windshield. The rain is still pouring. “I--No. No, the rain is still...too much.”

_ It's more than a touch or a word can say, only in dreams could it be this way. _

“Y/N,” he says again.

“Moss.”

You turn to him, meeting his eyes, and they’re completely blank.

“I may be drunk as flip,” he says frankly, like he’s pointing out what’s wrong with a broken motherboard. “But I dare say there is a bit of sexual tension in the air.”

You have no idea how your face isn’t red as a fresh apple, but for some reason you don’t feel it go hot. It’s like you have no control of your lips when they form the words, “Oh, is there?”

He tips his head down in a brief, single nod, like a pupil bowing to his sensei. “There is a quite a bit of evidence to draw such a conclusion. For instance, the fact that there is a very romantic song playing on the radio, as well as our numerous moments of silence emulating the kiss scenes in eighties romantic comedies.”

You don’t break away from his gaze, and he doesn’t break away from yours. “What are you suggesting?”

“I’m  _ suggesting _ that _you_ might be attracted to me.”

Oh.

You've pictured this moment in your head a thousand times. Dreamed about this moment a thousand times. You've heard him say the words in that nasally voice of his, contemplated how you would react. You expected to be scared, or floored, or that you'd know exactly what to say. But right now, you feel like your body's in autopilot, like someone else is controlling the moment instead of you.

Luckily, Autopilot Y/N is a sexy beast.

“Well,” you say in a faint whisper. “That’s not all that far-fetched.”

He frowns. “It really isn’t. Our sexual orientations line up. I’m naturally seductive, and you’re pretty smashing in the appearance department. I would say romantic attraction is inevitable.”

Your breath catches. It's happening. It's finally happening. You pop the question you've been begging to ask him all this time.

“Are you saying...you like me too?”

“Depends,” he says, tilting his chin up. “Are you ready for this jelly?”

You smile. “Quite ready.”

You don't know where to go next. The song is reaching its climax. You find yourself leaning towards him, and find him leaning towards you. The sporadic pattering of the rain on the windows matches the beating of your heart.

Then, your lips meet his and he kisses you.

After all this time, he’s kissing you.

You and Moss squirm out of your seatbelts so you can cradle his cheeks and he can hold your waist. You forget about going home, about Roy and Jen having sex in some boozy nightclub, about Moss being so drunk he might not even remember this the next morning.

Imagine that you and Maurice Moss have abandoned all the worries and responsibilities of the outside world, all to share this beautiful moment together.


	2. Word Can Hurt ~ A Sexy Moss x Ivana Two-Parter (Two-Shot?)

She expected to see him that day, at the club, and indeed she did. There he sat in that sensual stop-sign beret, whose color blended so seamlessly with his plaid cherry shirt. His tight knots of black hair exploded from the confines of the hat as though they were the knots of love bursting through Ivana's ribcage. She was a beautiful woman, no doubt about it, and she could have had any man she wanted, of any variation of attractiveness. But there was something about  _him_  that sank into her like a salted knife--something that ignited within her the burning flames of irrepressible desire.

She stood from the bar and sauntered over, carrying a martini glass in her hand. He was sitting with a friend of his, a man who looked like he couldn't make it past one, let alone eight plus. He couldn't have been a member. Moss was sipping a glass of milk, indents forming in his cheeks as he ferociously sucked the contents of the crucible through the tender plastic portal. The motion made Ivana wild with lust. She was an inferno of desire.

Finally, his eyes met hers. She was so close to him, she could feel her cold body being singed by his sexual heat. His male companion felt the tension and squirmed in his seat. Her heart was beating fast, but she managed to keep her face straight as an arrow.

"Will I see you tonight?" she asked him.

She didn't expect to see such ice in his eyes. They looked at her as though she were vermin, or less. His next words hit her like a slap in the face.

"Not now, Ivana."

Her once heated heart frozen solid, Ivana mustered a cold expression in return and left the scene. It was as if everything inside her had been mercilessly, brutally twisted.

Behind her, his friend whispered, "Did you have sex with that lady?"

She paused, waiting for his answer. She wasn't quite sure what he was about to say, but a glimmer of hope still shone brightly in her dark, knotted heart.

"If you call that mindless animalist rutting sex, then yes. I suppose we did."

Once the words hit her ears, her inside collapsed like a fallen angel, crushing her capacity to love. Her heart broke into a thousand pieces, stabbing her insides with shards of glass. As she collapsed into an empty booth, her head spun like a Tilt-O-Whirl, but she managed to down the rest of her martini to disguise the crippling nausea.

Unable to control her state of high emotion, Ivana's mind floated back to the memory of their special, sexual night together...

 

**~~ END OF PART I ~~**


End file.
